


Ponderers

by incoherentpiffler



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Eventual Romance, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 04:30:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11547519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incoherentpiffler/pseuds/incoherentpiffler
Summary: Detective Constable Morse and Doctor DeBryn are more similar than they would have ever expected - spending all the more time together over the space of just weeks shows them just how much they appreciate one another's company.





	Ponderers

**Author's Note:**

> These two make me very happy - their little interactions each episode - I can't wait for series five as with TWO whole more episodes there's so many opportunities :')
> 
> Me and many others on Tumblr decided that Max DeBryn would be the sort to own a dog. I decided to name her "Beatrix" because I feel as though Max's love for fishing and all things nature would have sprung from reading Beatrix Potter as a child.  
> Disclaimer: I don't speak DeBryn (some people are so amazing at his characterisation!!)
> 
> Either way, I hope to write more!

Day-to-day, Oxford emitted its usual golden glow; the cobbled streets, beautiful buildings and the gentle rush of birdsong in the mornings. Trees did always tend to rustle in the light breeze, and bustles of people - those on the daily commute to work, or panicked parents tugging the sleeves of their children as they dashed to school along the pavement - though, not everyone was in a rush.  
  
Morse, the tousled detective constable, had been given (to him, forced) a day off. Much to his dismay, falling asleep at his desk had not been looked upon particularly favourably (though he did have to blame himself for the lack of rest). With every few steps, he sighed sadly - no work to do - would revolve around his head repeatedly. With hands stuffed in the pockets of his crumpled coat, both eyes remained strongly focused on the ground.  
  
His tired head led him to the nearby river - how long had he been walking? Not a clue - but while he didn't face it himself, peace and quiet was at the top of his busy brain's to-do list. He had a knack of distracting himself by overthinking. The present scene did hold memories, as the location of one of his first cases, yet the stillness of the water didn't quite set as peacefully to the young constable, bad thoughts he'd rather not remember. So, he sat himself on the nearby bench, to think. The only problem with Morse is, he never stops pondering.  
  
With the deepest sigh, Morse shrugged his shoulders and scrunched himself together as though he was a sheet of useless notes. To some people, he'd look like a nesting hen. Despite the sun on his back, he was still cold. Everybody at the station told him he didn't look after himself well enough - that he, "Needed someone" - though he had never been sure whether he was ready for any more company than a friend, through past experiences.  
  
After a few moments of peace, goodness knows he could have fallen asleep, he was awoken from his thinking by a clatter of geese, a scrabbling and splashing in the murky water, then, followed by the call,  
  
"Beatrix!" - Morse's focus was then piqued - that was the voice of somebody he knew all too well, despite the DC's poor attendance to his post-mortems. However, Morse hadn't the slightest idea who this ' _Beatrix_ ' was.  
  
With quick a turn of the head, Morse caught sight of the bespectacled Doctor DeBryn, who was approaching the river that the detective constable was sat by. A dog's lead in one hand and the other in the pocket of his duffle coat, the pathologist hardly looked impressed at the situation. Morse didn't know whether to be more surprised at the concept of DeBryn being out of the mortuary - or the concept of DeBryn owning a dog. This dog being a beagle, which at this present moment was chasing the geese which only seconds before were comfortably seated on the riverside.  
  
"Ah- oh you silly, silly girl," the pathologist muttered as he approached Morse, "Can't you see - why, Morse!" DeBryn remarked, suddenly recalling the auburn hair and freckled nose. "I'm surprised to see you out of the station at such a time as this", with a blink to check his wristwatch (10.45 am approximately), he looked at the detective constable, Beatrix returning to sit by the doctor's ankles.  
  
"Doctor," Morse finally spoke, standing from the bench to greet his friend from the mortuary. "I wouldn't have expected you to be out at such a time," he swallowed, "and with such company..." - and saying this, did Morse just laugh? If so, only softly.  
  
The pathologist chuckled quietly to himself, crouching to attach the beagle's collar to the lead he gripped in his hand. "One does require some company, Morse - I doubt sitting alone on a bench would excel to assist you within that field", with a smile, DeBryn removed his hand from his pocket to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose (his rare laugh probably the cause of them to fall).

  
"I don't suppose you'd care to join me and Trixie here on our morning stroll - she is always open to meeting new faces" - again, smiling, DeBryn watched as the dog stood, alert at the word 'stroll' - Morse, too, couldn't help but smile gently at the pathologist and his companion. He reminded himself of what life at the mortuary, day after day, must be like. It did cheer his spirits to know that some happiness could be found.  
  
"Why not," the young officer replied, smiling, oddly again, "it's not as though I've any other place to be."  
  
And so, the detective constable, the pathologist, and the beagle started on their route; further along the river, on the gravel path. The men held what felt a perpetual period of silence, Morse with both hands stuffed in the pockets of his coat, DeBryn with eyes set on his dog (who always remained far further in front) and one hand in his pocket. If people were to pass by, they'd think the two of them hadn't anything to do with eachother - they were more similar than they thought - the two of them were thinking. Imagining to themselves, developing scenarios, planning future interaction.  
  
"Should I ask why you've no work?" - DeBryn broke their silence.  
  
"Fell asleep at my desk this morning."  
  
"I highly doubt that was comfy, Morse."  
  
With that, Morse sighed, to the doctor's attention, concealing a yawn. Morse's entire mien screamed tiredness: the nest of auburn atop of his head, dark circles below swollen eyes, even his stance brought concern to DeBryn.  
  
"May I ponder over why you've not been sleeping?" DeBryn asked, "is something disturbing your conscience? One can only hope that you haven't any other problems, because-"  
  
"I'm fine," Morse interrupted, "it's just been busy - y'know, at the station."  
  
At this, the pathologist stopped (as did Beatrix). He didn't look angry, he looked wholly distressed.  
  
"Morse -" started DeBryn, "in my profession, you have to try your best to keep people off the autopsy table," with that, Morse stopped and looked at the pathologist. "We try to keep the messy workload to a minimum, and if you continue caring for yourself as you are now, I'd have to start a file."  
  
The constable sighed, again as both eyes looked to the ground. "I'm sorry, doctor, I-"  
  
"Please, just Max, we're hardly partaking in anything formal, are we."  
  
"I guess not," Morse swallowed.  
  
Max peered down at his watch (now 10.55 am) and looked back up to Morse. "Now, I can either walk you home and you can go straight to get some shut-eye, or, you are free to join me and Beatrix for elevenses."  
  
"Well- I, um," stammered Morse, "I suppose tea wouldn't hurt," he nodded with a lurch. "Either way, walking home now would be a long way."  
  
"Then that's decided -" the doctor replied, "after you've eaten something, I'll drive you home.", and saying that, the three of them began to walk again. "We're not that far from home now,"  
  
With this, they remained silent again, maybe exchanging quiet glances or small remarks about life at the station, maybe even conversing about philosophy, maybe even poetry.  
  
Either way, they arrived at the pathologist's abode far quicker than the two had ever expected.


End file.
